


no capes

by lefttigerobservation



Series: No Capes! [1]
Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Genre: (aftermath), Angst, Canonical Minor Character Death, Edna Mode - Freeform, F/F, NO CAPES, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism :((, World War II, also the kids are important. we love the parr children, also this is set in 1962!, and i like only two (2) hevelyn fics so i've made them canon in my brain, cam has kids too, edna really seems queer. jus saying, except. maybe i will, mild hevelyn in the bg, so this is a series now!, this is what happens when someone gives me free reign, thus won't write another
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lefttigerobservation/pseuds/lefttigerobservation
Summary: From the moment Edna makes her vow, everything changes. She is no longer solid, all too flexible, and no one can hold on anymore. It's better that way, she thinks. No one gets hurt.
Relationships: Edna Mode & Original Female Character(s), Edna Mode/ Original Female Character, Established Bob "Mr. Incredible" Parr/ Helen "Elastigirl" Parr, background helen "elastigirl" parr/ evelyn deavor, mentioned helen "elastigirl" parr/ stratogale
Series: No Capes! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148783
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. no capes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [So Much for Staying Safe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150146) by [Comp_Lady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comp_Lady/pseuds/Comp_Lady). 



> in which a funeral pivots edna’s entire life around. (pre-incredibles, 2004)

**UNLIKE MOST SUPERS** , Stratogale had only wanted one thing— no flash, no big logos, no colours, no accents, no insisting on matters that Edna herself considered the very core of a suit. “Safe,” she’d said, shyly, as if the request was to be frowned upon. “I don’t need to look cool, I just want to be… safe.”  
And Edna never gave into the insisting, especially knowing what kind of decisions supers tended to make, especially since most of them would pop up and think the best of themselves, making their own terrible suits. They would come to her, eventually, and she did what she did best— found out what they needed, made it better, given it to them to watch it function brilliantly.

  
They’d left the smalltown church quite a while ago, now filling the room of someone’s house— the mother, curled at first in a monstrously big armchair, maybe to hide, sits now, crumpled on the floor. Her hands are held gently by another woman (sister, maybe, and the thought presses itself into Edna’s mind), while she observes the father, propped up by only a handful of friends. He looks as if his resolve is a moment away from- snap, gone already. It is not the first time he cries, gaze once looking at the mountain of flowers by the closed casket blurred into a singular pale colour. A terrible addition, really, what with the lovely smell; you’d think it was a celebration. The cards are stacked along with a collage from some friends of Gail’s, supers who couldn’t make it have their writing strewn into elaborate, uncertain blocks of words in folded paper. It isn’t enough.

Edna has one dress, only one, that could ever suit this occasion, and she dons it now— terribly long, shrouding her from view, her hair in a sort of veil, eyes puffy but tired. Oh, so tired. She fishes out her sketchbook, the pride and joy of her life, holding every page delicately as she turns it. Death, death, death. Every elegant cape splayed behind each super, death. She takes a deep breath, the only one she needs now. Fifty-seven years, fifty-seven years of living, and Gail’s has been reduced to a terrible twenty. A girl states away, a girl who can fly, the first page, fingers trace along the top of the page, curling it to facilitate just enough delicate grip to hold it between her first two fingers and thumb. Her left hand is white with pressure, clenching into a fist as she sees the young, beautiful, alive, those supers; she yanks her arm back, murmuring to herself as the page tears. No contemplation goes into the next page, ripped out, the next, gone, snap, shrivelled into a ball of finality.

  
“No capes.”

  
Another ball of paper falls to the floor.

  
“No more capes.”

  
Another.

  
“No more capes.”

  
Two supers turn their heads nearby, wordlessly. No one says a word, now too surprised to grieve at that moment.

  
“No capes,” she hisses, getting up and walking out, because by god everyone staring might just cause her to burst and Edna is determined, with whatever dignity she has left, to keep up appearances.

  
Ha.

  
Edna had made her a gift. A prom dress, something she could wear after when her parents had finally agreed to let her go with her girlfriend— “Thank you, Ms Mode, I don’t know how to…”

  
“E, darling,” she’d replied, earnestly, watching Gail admire the delicate ruffles and lovely pale blue. “I’m not your teacher.”

  
Gail grinned. “Thank you, E.”

  
“Now give ‘em hell! I want to see you soar.”

  
If only for a few years, Stratogale had done just that. All she’d wanted was safety— and even Edna, respected designer, designer for the gods, arrogant, ambitious, brilliant, could not provide that for her.

  
What she would do to give Gail more of those years.


	2. it's the law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which edna watches as supers go under lock and key, and the parr family seek out her help, bringing her out of her fifteen-year retirement. helen parr becomes the world’s most renowned super and edna becomes a babysitter. (incredibles, 2004 & 2018)

**IN ALL HER** life, Edna had not known a single member of the Parr family to go down without a fight. But Helen and Bob were married— not long ago, ‘55, Elastigirl had retired her title for the duties of a mother, a heroic act beyond being a super, but… it astounded her, really, if she was quite honest. Still, it was not very long before Robert showed up under the guise of a patch job, looking bigger, cocky as usual, and he talked about new suits, new suits, obviously unaware of the incredible (snicker) observance skills the woman opposite him had. It was his wonderful hobo suit, megamesh and outdated, and since Edna never looked back, she was determined to make him a new one. 

But yet, the visit entailed more mention of capes, as most visits with supers did; fifteen years of retirement had prohibited most of such talk, but every now and then, she would get a call, whether to reminisce or ask for something slightly under the radar, it was anyone’s guess, but the reminders were never too welcome. Thunderhead, _Stratogale_ , Meta Man, Dynaguy, Splashdown, all brilliant supers who had the unfortunate… Too much, she thought at the time, recalling everyone as she cited the examples to a stubborn Robert. 

The suit was the easy part, if she was honest, a good show for Mr Incredible, but dealing with Helen Parr proved to be the harder part— she’d always stood her ground, but she trusted Edna, _E_ , and Edna would not let that slip. So, she had insisted Helen visit. It was the right thing to do, ignoring all of her protests about suits, suits, _oh_ , could she not simply listen? All Helen did was talk.

But the issue was that Helen didn’t know, so maybe all the talk was alright. Edna herself didn’t like lying, even if a large portion of her job required it from her, she could only bear so much of it at the end of the day. 

“Do you know where he is?” She had asked Helen, who remained innocent, convinced of the stability her husband offered. 

“Of… course—”

And again she asked, “Do you _know_ where he is?”

The device was all that Helen really needed; like a ticking time bomb, that woman, but over the years, she had been reduced to a housewife, to the woman sobbing now. Edna felt almost a twinge of pity for it, but it died out eventually, after all this… crying. 

“Oh, I am such an idiot. I let this happen, you know…” She took another tissue from the roll of toilet paper. “The new sports car, the getting in shape, the blond hair, the lies...!” 

“Yes, he attempts to relive the past,” Edna replied, suppressing her roll of the eyes as she swept off tissues from the counter with newspaper roll.

“Now I’m losing him! What’ll I do?” Helen continued to cry. “What’ll I do?” 

Edna frowned, incredulous. “What are you _talking_ about?” Helen had the audacity to look confused. “You are Elastigirl! My God.” She hit her once, twice, with the same roll, raising herself by sitting on the counter. “Pull- yourself- together! What will you do, Is-is-is this a question?! You will show him you remember that he is Mr Incredible, and you will remind him who _you_ are!” She grinned. “Well, you don't know where he is, go, confront the problem! Fight! Win!”

Helen managed a smile despite her wide eyes, realising that the E she’d known all her life would not let _her_ go down without a fight. 

“And call me when you get back, darling. I enjoy our visits.”

The fight with Syndrome had been… interesting, to say the least. A former Mr Incredible fan, Buddy Pine had gone overboard, feeling the need to eradicate most supers from existence, to prevail as the only true saviour, more saviourism that, _really_ , Edna had had quite enough of— she’d consoled Helen on nights when she stayed awake, nights when she talked about Gail (an old friend, something more, when she was thirty-ish and had made the agreement with Robert) as if the world has spun on its axis. She talked, mostly, about her children; how she feared she couldn’t protect them. The entire family had been shaken, a little jumbled up with everything that had occurred, but before they had even the chance to process what had happened— this meant Helen, too— there was another threat. The legal status had not changed, not for supers’ favour, anyhow, but it was in their nature, to do such things. 

As for now, all Edna could occupy herself with was matters that didn’t include legal repercussions. She would watch on the news, the damage done to so many buildings, but she had known what had gone into them; had known that Frozone had fled the scene before he, too, could face these foolish charges. And, to make matters worse, she was quite sure that the government began to care less and less about these people, these _different_ people, which was only further reinstated by the program, the one relocating these superheroes and helping them as a decent fucking _human_ would— it was shut down, essentially. Edna wanted to kick the decision-makers but feared she would come off as rude and, to her great humiliation, too small to do so. In more ways than one. 

The news, after all the drama had faded, became little company for the restless nights, poring over a sketchbook with no regard for the time ticking by her, calling friends and clients to discuss matters about the clothes, the work, the models who were not super enough for her satisfaction, the food she was receiving, and one day, on a very brilliant streak of ideas, she called whom she believed to be Rocher, an old friend of hers— it was not, in fact, Edouard Rocher. But still, she had not known that at the time, ranting her heart out.

“And, oh, Ed, it is going to be _magnificent_ . I can just see what it’ll do to the women walking by the store on the streets, their hearts will leap out of their chests and they’ll _have_ to buy it. I’m the best, I know, darling, I know, it will take me a while to finish, send you a prototype, but… What do you think?”

Instead of Rocher’s weathered, passionate voice, her enthusiasm was met with a gentle response, a voice of a woman she would know anywhere: “ _I think it’s lovely_ ,” she replied, sounding almost breathless. “ _But I’m afraid to tell you you must have phoned the wrong number. I’m certainly not Ed unless I’ve got an eye for design that doesn’t involve teaching it._ ”

Edna, for the first time in months, was embarrassed. “Oh, dear— I’m so sorry.” She did not usually apologise to strangers, especially not strangers she had only met over the phone. 

“ _No, no_ ,” the woman assured her. “ _It’s alright. I suppose you have to go, then, call Rocher_?”

“The real Rocher.”

“ _Yes_.”

Edna took a brief moment of silence, a small breath. The line crackled. Had she not… hung up? “You are… still there?”

“ _Hmm? Oh. I wasn’t… Sorry. I’ll go._ ”

Wait. No. “No, no, I apologise. I was just confused.” 

“ _... Do you want me to hang up_?”

“I’m making you confused now, aren’t I.”

“ _A little._ ” The woman chuckled. “ _I’m Cam_.”

“Edna,” she said, softly. How she was still engaged in such a strange conversation, she was unaware, really, but with every cautious word the woman uttered she found herself enthralled. They thought the same, she realised, like no one, not even Ed Rocher, had thought for a while. Half an hour passed, maybe a full one, before Edna realised how late it had gotten. 

“ _Call Rocher, tomorrow_.” 

“What?”

“ _I mean it. He’ll want to know. You make a good point_.”

Edna found herself smiling in return, to this stranger she had supposedly only just met, who could not see her, nor understand what she looked like, what she wanted, but maybe that was not the point of this conversation. The only solid fact a flexible person like Edna knew was that this was a passing thought, a passing event— something she would not look back on but would remember. “Thank you,” she murmured, uncertain. She had still not learnt what the woman now did for a living. What she looked like, if this were her at all. What she wanted, now. She didn’t need to know, and yet, she was eager to. It took most of her self-preservation tactics in her brilliant mind to say, “I will not speak to you again, but it was nice to meet you.”

“ _Likewise_ ,” Cam said, “ _Good luck_.”

It was sincere, and Edna wanted to say more, ask more, implore her to reveal even a smidgeon of her mind so that what she had rambled on about would make her feel less vulnerable. A complete stranger an hour ago, or not, she knew the inner workings of the self-proclaimed best designer on this strange Earth. It was unsettling. “Save my number,” she said, although more a command than a request. “I may not know you now, but you never know.”

“ _Indeed I don’t_.” Like most things this evening, it was confusing. An oxymoron for Edna to pick apart without knowing which two things were opposites. 

“Goodnight, Cam.”

“ _Goodnight to you too_.” The line clicked off, leaving Edna’s mind foggy and dazed, an unusual occurrence. One that hadn’t occurred in quite a long time, not since she’d hit her first rut in designing nearly a year ago. 

After she’d recovered from the deep-seated embarrassment that came from such a call, she stared at the receiver of the phone for five whole minutes, expecting something (anything) to happen again. She called Rocher the next morning, although with the early hour, her enthusiasm was dimmed, her fire threatening to die out. Ed, however, was none the wiser, grinning and exclaiming with every word she uttered; a feeling she had forgotten since her days of pure, utter, midnight chaos such as the one she’d created last night. If only, she thought then, he had heard what she sounded like, when all of the passion began to brim out of her in the form of words. It felt… dull. Ed didn’t sense it, so she didn’t say anything, instead letting him hang up with the request of updates, promises of things he likely would let hang for years until she needed a favour, but really it would take a while for him to even consider it at all. Not speaking from experience, of course. 

Edna was bored— it was not a wise idea for Edna to be bored, especially since her mind was often filled with ideas that could keep her running for years on end, designers would _lust_ after the ideas she had, but… Over time, designing had become about perfection, not about freedom, about beauty, or about expression. The very thing that drove the industry, the wonder in one’s eyes when they saw something that captured them, the models diverse, the photographers enraptured, and good _god_ , all she needed was _them_.

The supers, those moronic beings of pure power, they gave her _expression_. Specifications out the window, she could finish an entire project in a single night, like she did now, sewing and snipping to her heart’s content, red fabric piled over a geometric pattern with black squares fading into the fabric. It would be a gown, for now, something to wear around the house but feel comfortable in.

She liked to make her clothes herself, rarely shopping for anything but essentials. Her glasses tipped to the front of her nose as she fumbled for the needle, and, when the hour was done, she switched on her television. To her surprise, there was… Helen. Elastigirl, she corrected herself, looking at the— the suit! Her suit had been made again! This wasn’t a _patch job_ , she thought bitterly. This was a _brand new_ suit. “Who!” she exclaimed, to no one in particular. One of the few guards allowed in the laboratory peered in. “Ms Mode?”

“What?” She turned in her seat, sneering. “Do you _see_ this, Karl? Elastigirl has a _new_ suit.” Karl looked surprised, a little defensive in her favour but she supposed it was only because that was a part of his job. “And it’s by _Galbaki_ !” She would have a very long _word_ with Helen after this charade came to a close— but Elastigirl was back. That was important! Elastigirl was back, and that meant that when a) this stupid suit of hers failed, she could repair it and scold Helen and b) maybe there was hope after all, for the moronic beings. All of them. 

“A runaway train,” she muttered, bewildered. “Well done, darling.”

It brought a grin to her face, and she fiddled with the turtleneck she’d recently altered. Karl retreated back to his position, so Edna went to find herself some snacks before poring over work once more; inspiration had struck her.

New supers. Helen had told her, in confidence of course, about new supers. The very thought of it had made Edna begin sketching again, now hunched over the desk with notebook after notebook open, the computer on and the news in the background. It happened to be that, on this day, two or so days after this brilliant news, that she was wearing her red and black gown, and that Robert, strong man, fearless super and wonderful father, showed up at her mansion.

“Galbaki?” was her first demand. “Elastigirl’s suit is by Gal _baki_? Explain yourself!”

She nosed herself right up to the monitor and heard crying. “Oh, my God. You’re worse than I thought.”

“ _It’s the baby. I brought the baby._ ” As if on cue, Jack-Jack squealed. 

Edna let him in, after all, he was a good friend. But she was not prepared at _all_ for what she saw; a husk of a man, tired and absolutely dead, looking as though he had not slept since he was born. He struggled to carry his own child as they walked. “You look _ghastly_ , Robert.”

“I haven’t been sleeping. I broke my daughter, they keep changing math…” Edna could not do anything but gaze at him in horror. “We needed double-A batteries, but I got triple-A's… and now we still need double-A batteries.” He continued droning on. “I put one red thing in a load of whites and now everything's pink. And I think we need eggs.” 

They entered the living room, and, even in his unusual state, Robert gazed at the ancient stone sculpting in the wall he had his back toward. 

“Done properly, parenting is a heroic act,” Edna remarked. “Done _properly_. I am fortunate that it has never afflicted me.” She took a moment to realise how ludicrous this all was. “But you do not come to me for eggs and batteries, Robert. I design hero wear,” she stated, watching him sit down, “and Elastigirl must have a new suit.” 

Robert sighed. “Actually, it's Jack-Jack.” 

Edna frowned, staring at the baby. “You also wish a new suit for the baby? I would hardly classify this as an emergency.”

“Well, he's a special case. Worth studying.” He looked more exhausted by the minute. “If I could just leave him with you for a while…”

“Leave him? Here?” The very idea was preposterous. “I am not a baby person, Robert. I have no baby facilities. I am an artist.” She ripped the gown away from Jack-Jack’s dangerous mouth. “I do not involve myself in the prosaic day-to-day to…” Without much warning, he began to shapeshift— nose growing bigger, eyes wider, and then… her _hair_! “Day.”

Jack-Jack chuckled. 

“Fascinating! Are you _seeing_ this, Robert?” She turned to his father, and when he barely acknowledged her, she rolled her eyes. 

“Dada,” the baby replied, and sneezed, flying quite high in the air. Edna dove to catch him, but he levitated just above the ground. “Oh, my God.” Glasses askew, she grinned. “Yes!”

Moments later, she was rushing a bewildered Robert out of her home while cradling Jack-Jack in her left arm. “Of course you can leave the baby overnight. I'm sure filling in for Helen is challenging, and you are very tired… and the other children need you and miss you, and you must go to them.” She opened the door. “Auntie Edna will take care of everything… so, drive safely and goodbye. I enjoy our visits.” 

Robert paused, just outside as the door shut. “‘Auntie Edna’?”

That night, she did not rest. It was customary, really, for her to do so, and in the days when she’d first started rest was only a dream, something to obtain after hard work. Now, she’d come to understand it would help her better function, make better things, despite whatever deadlines might dictate upon her; hence, she’d started her own brand. Her own brand meant her own rules. In the earlier hours of the night, before Jack-Jack had gone to bed in her makeshift crib, she played her usual Mozart as she worked, and watched as he danced, multiplying until she could not control the majority of his outbursts. There had been many… painful, straining realisations over the course of this night, but her creative fever did not halt for a second, rather being egged on by each discovery. 

And Robert arrived right on time, very grateful. They walked down the corridor again, his gratuitous words spilling out, “I can't tell you how much I appreciate you watching Jack-Jack for me, E.”

“Yes, I'm sure your gratitude is quite inexpressible,” she mused, smiling. “Don't ask me to do it again, darling. My rates are far too high.” Her pointer moved airily with her words, grazing the white rocky walls briefly. 

“Oh, uh…” He looked down, frowning. 

“I am joking, Robert. I enjoyed the assignment.” She turned to the baby, who was nibbling on a large lollipop. “He is bright and I am stimulating. We deserve each other. Your child is a polymorph. Like all babies, he has enormous potential,” she explained, “It is not unknown for supers to have more than one power when young… but this little one has many.” 

Jack-Jack babbled at her. “Yes, you have many powers.” This time, she opened the lab door with his babbling once more, grinning at Robert while she held Jack-Jack closer. “I understand your lack of sleep and coherency, Robert. Babies can be anything, and your child is no exception.” 

Robert went to sit down as she continued, exhilarated. “He has pure, unlimited potential, Robert. He slept while I worked in a creative fever. Auntie Edna stayed up all night making sure you look fabulous in your many forms.” She opened the chamber door, much to his father’s confusion. 

“What are you... You're putting him in the…” He pointed aimlessly at the chamber, which was made of glass but reinforced with black framing, delicate on the inside. 

“In the chamber, Robert. He is part of the demonstration and will be fine.” The door locked and she continued, pointer held as they both sat down on the red chairs, observing the baby. “Your challenge is to manage a baby who has multiple powers and no control over them, yes?” Rhetorical, but Robert answered, “Huh. That sums it up.”

“I often work to music and I noticed the baby responds to it as well. Specifically, Mozart.” Said music began to play. “I blended Kevlar with carbyne for durability under duress… cotton for comfort. Interwoven with these fabrics are a mesh of tiny sensors that monitor the baby's physical properties.” 

Jack-Jack began to dance, multiplying in a frenzy. His father didn’t take lightly to it, nearly jumping out of his seat as he exclaimed, “Oh, Lord! What is he doing?”

“Well, it's Mozart, Robert. Can you blame him?” She grinned. “The important thing is that the suit and tracker anticipated the change and alerted you.”

As if only realising, he murmured, “Oh, no. Cookies. I gotta get cookies!”

Edna shook her head. “You do not need cookies. As I learned quite painfully last night…” Jack-Jack pounded at the door, angry, “any solution involving cookies will inevitably result in the demon baby.” Said baby growled, and Robert looked alarmed. 

“‘Combustion imminent’? What does that mean?!” He yelped as Jack-Jack suddenly became ablaze. 

“It means fire, Robert,” she replied, laying back with a small smile, “for which the suit has countermeasures. I suggest you extinguish the baby's flames before he trips the sprinkler system.” Robert did so, exhaling with relief. “The flame retardant is blackberry lavender, darling.” The baby looked very content. “Effective, edible, and delicious.”

“Well, what do you know?” He smiled. “That is useful.” 

“Although, I have doubtlessly exceeded your expectations for a single night's work,” she turned towards him in the chair, then hopped out of it. “The suit and device contain a few more features we need to discuss.”

“Thanks again, E, for everything.” They were outside now, the bright daylight piercing through the door. “How much do I owe you for…”

Edna waved a hand as his bag brushed past her. “Pish-posh, darling. Your bill will be covered by my fee for being Mr Incredible, Elastigirl, and Frozone's exclusive designer…” She closed her eyes, relishing in the thought. “Throughout the known universe and until the end of time. But babysitting this one…” They all exchanged a smile. “I do for free, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed :)


	3. boundaries (unseen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i finally got around to perfecting some stuff. i hope you enjoy this!

**THE NEXT FEW** days, Edna was troubled, with no news from the Parr family. She’d heard a distress call from the children, once, but it had halted suddenly— all the more reason to be worried, she thought but brushed it aside in favour of watching the news, wishing, hoping, praying, for something good. But there was nothing. After the Screenslaver had hijacked the screens, Edna had known, now, that the Parr family (at least, the adults) and many other supers were under the villain’s influence. She feared for her life, for the first time in years. Shut off every screen in the house, which was three, a good number, and sketched until her fingers hurt. She wondered how people she used to know were faring. She wondered if she could talk to them, if this blew over.

It was only hours, what felt like _days_ , later, that she learned that Bob and Helen had been hypnotised, too. Violet and Dash’s distress call had gone off due to their presence being in a car, not their residence. New Urbem was far, yes, but it was near enough that the commute would not have changed much had she decided to venture off and find them from her residence on the edge of Metroville. When Helen called her that night to assure her they had been alright, that the casualties were minimal due to Frozone— call him _Lucius_ , he insisted, when they were in private— and his incredible work.

Bob was alright, angry. Rightfully so. The new supers were victorious, apologetic for all the deeds they caused under the influence of the Screenslaver, who had been arrested, thrown out of a plane by a former pilot, none other than Helen herself, who put the plane on autopilot to save… her. The Screenslaver’s name was Evelyn, Evelyn Deavor, Edna learned. Violet and Voyd had become friends, and the Parr family had recommended Edna for some aid towards the new supers’ suits. It filled her with glee. 

Helen, however, was not in such a mood— Edna herself had not entirely recovered from the ordeal, but she suspected the supers would have it much worse— and instead, she frowns anytime Edna says anything, her mind elsewhere. Eventually, Edna hugs her, unsure whether it is a good tactic or not. Helen is wordless at first, body tense and rigid with the contact. Then she cries, burrowing herself into the older woman with a gentleness only a mother could give; she doesn’t want to impose on Edna, but yet, she cannot stop a single emotion from bursting out.

Edna knows the feeling, despite not having experienced it for several years, maybe a decade, if she remembers well. She doesn’t. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says, and Edna shakes her head as she pulls away. “You came here as our guest, and now I’m crying…” Her words lack the effort of an apology. 

“Helen. You hear me, do you?” She nods. “You are a _super_ , but that does not mean you are not _human_ , yes? Darling, you are spectacular, unlike anyone I have ever met, but you are weak. You need to allow yourself to be, for this time. You can switch it off, later, I promise I won’t tell the kids or Robert.” Edna gives her a light-hearted grin, but feels it may not be doing much. “I do not expect it to all go back to normal. But, in time, it will hurt less.” She shrugs, recalling her own memories as if they were just yesterday’s events. They are brushed away, quickly. “Do you want to… Do you know what is happening to her?”

“I do,” Helen’s resolve returns, bitter and hasty. “I already do. Not just immediate prison, no,” she chuckles, half-heartedly. “Violet was right, you know it.” 

Edna watches her look of amusement morph into one of despair, then force itself into determination. “I want to see her. When she’s out, I mean.” The lispy rasp is warm, but dangerous. Edna has heard it before, so she nods, knowingly— Helen will get closure, if it’s the last thing she does. How it will play out, she doesn't know, or at least not yet. She’ll likely hear it later, when it goes awry, or when this friend (or something more, she never did dare ask) inevitably apologises or when it comes full circle and Helen is completely in power. Edna doesn’t know which option is the best, let alone which will be the least taxing or gruesome.

“If you think it’s best, darling.” 

Helen knows Edna worries, so she softens. “I do.”

“Then you do that. You see her, in her home.” A small smile. “Get your answers.”

When she thinks about it later, the words are not so different to when she told Stratogale her piece; _soar_ , give ‘em hell. It might be why they worked so well together. 

Robert re-enters the home with Jack-Jack perched on his hip, nibbling on some small snack, and both of their faces light up. 

“Oh, it’s E! It’s Auntie Edna, Jack-Jack!” He grins. “The, uh, the monitor… broke.”

“And you were doing what to cause it, sneaking around?” She leaves no room for an answer. “Think I should fix it?” Edna asks, one hand on her hip. Helen takes the other from behind the counter, still silent, while Robert unpacks some groceries and Violet descends from the stairs to greet the guest. 

“That would be nice, yeah,” Helen says, and what she means is, _come back, listen to me if you can,_ but most of all, it’s _thank you_ , and Edna nods in agreement. 

“Then I’ll get right to it. In the meantime, steer him a _way_ ,” she scolds, pointing at the jar of cookies, “from these.” 

The Parr family chuckles warmly, returning the light, the _super_ , to the house. Legalities aside, they were still supers, in every fiber of their beings— some things were illegal, some things not, but the truth was, no matter the law, there were boundaries. People would stare. People would talk. 

It was the nature of such things, really, to be supposedly unseen for a while, and even if the law changed, there was a mindset remaining most of the time. What Edna would give to put an end to some of the talk, to some of the boundaries, she was still uncertain. It would be a lot, though.

The day after she visits the Parrs, Edna finishes the piece she told Rocher about; it’s beautiful. Not in the way every designer calls their work beautiful, like every other work on the planet, but… it is _gorgeous_ . Originally working on the bodice of a simple dress, then including an A-line skirt, she assembled the two pieces and designed some new sleeves; pointed at the shoulders, looking vaguely like wings. She had thought of flight, the ease needed in it, her mind wandering to supers without much awareness. The front plunged into a V, revealing but not vulgar, the fabric pressed in such a way it was nearly impossible to detect any shape or form apart from the bodice she had carefully pinched with a gold ribbon. The fabric itself was soft, silk exterior, firm interior, covered in formations not unlike the lines inside a gemstone, dispersed evenly and a lovely shade of gray. Edna could not wear it, no, but she suspected there would be women who would do it utter justice. So she calls Rocher, again. This time, to her _almost_ dismay, it is him. She tells him about the piece, and he is excited with her as she details every specification, every note and thought that went into it. Then, he says, “ _Sell it. Put it on the runway_.”

She grins. “I’d need to make a few more, darling—”

“ _E, I’ve known you forever. You will do it well, if you choose to. I have complete faith in your work_ .” There is the sound of children squealing in the background, then laughter. Rocher’s tone slips into one of familial ease, out of his business passion. “ _I have to go. Laura’s birthday is today_.”

“Wish her a good one and say hello to Bea and Kenny, okay?” 

“ _Oui, my dear! Goodbye_!” 

Minutes after the conversation ends, a realisation hits Edna like a truck— she is _lonely_. The sound of children did not help that fact, and she is eager to consume some wine, some ideas, to look at a screen without fear and be lost in her work as she produces idea after idea. But she doesn’t. Not tonight, not after… this. The work of art in front of her, she’ll ride the high of this for hours, maybe a day or two, before she will be able to work again, unsure whether she will be able to reproduce it, or make something of its quality ever again. 

She wonders how many numbers off it will take her to find Cam’s number again. Six, maybe seven tries, she’ll give up— so she spends some time doing research, as she would for any project. _Cam_ , she types, _fashion_ , from what she vaguely recalls. The internet does its magic within two or three minutes of scrolling, and she finds the name jutting out at her in its boldness. 

**Cam Jung | DUD**

_Cam Jung is a historian and fashion professor/ co-head of department. Read publications here… Delta University of Design (DUD), tags: fashion, historian..._

Edna takes a moment to process her decision, then clicks on the link. By the time she has another moment to realise the implications of what she’s about to do, she forgets that humiliation was often the death of her, and scrolls through the publications. It seems Cam had done a lot for her university— had been running the fashion department at DUD for nearly five years. 

There are multiple contact numbers, office, home (in brackets, place of residence, which confuses her), email, and then, mobile, the one that looks the most like Rocher’s number. She picks up her phone with pursed lips, looking at the time— late enough to call without disturbing her, she thinks, and dials the number.

The second time she hears Cam’s voice, she knows that the Cam she is hearing is the Cam she used to know, and she had come to that conclusion the minute she had seen the page online, complete with an image for reference, one to compare with the young student in the back of her mind.

“ _And he’s screwing with the… Margaret, d’you mind to get the..? Oh._ ” There is a pause. “ _I must have picked this up without realising. Cam Jung, PhD, what can I help you with_?”

Edna considers her options; hang up is first. It would be the wisest. Second, state her name and business. Third, wait for the other line to go silent. She chooses the second, unfortunately for her logic. 

“Edna, then. I believe we spoke on the phone not too long ago.”

More silence ensues, leaving her mind racing. “ _... Oh! Hi_ !” Cam chuckles and she feels lighter all of a sudden. “ _It’s nice to hear from you again. What did Rocher think_ ?” A crackle. “ _Yes, Marg, that Rocher. I’ll fill you in later. So_?”

“He liked it! I finished it this evening, actually. Quite beautiful.”

“ _I’ll take your word for it._ ” 

She doesn’t have the guts to tell her what she may have realised, so she shrugs, then realises Cam can’t see it so says, “Is this a bad time?”

“ _Not at all. In fact, Marg and I were packing up for the evening. It’s nearly seven and I am exhausted. Why_?”

“Come to dinner with me.”

At first, the other woman’s line is silent, stunned, but then, with a moment’s hesitation, she agrees. They hang up mutually as the clock ticks to quarter-past, and Edna abandons her workspace in favour of her room, finding an outfit she feels will make a good impression. When it comes to such a thing, Edna will often wear something that works with black, the dark tones she feels comfortable in, knows well, because comfort is better than style (a hypocritical thought, she knows) in such an instance. Instead, though, this time, she opts for a black jumpsuit with padded shoulders, a belt looped around her waist and her glasses switched out for the round tortoiseshell ones that give her the look of a designer. Rolf finds out where she is going, tells the chauffeur to take her, and makes sure she’ll contact him if anything goes wrong. She thanks him for his trouble as she climbs into the car. 

The little restaurant in downtown Municiberg is not at all what Edna suspected it would be; lively, bustling, _colourful._ She likes the colours, might make a shade of fabric dye the colour of the neon lights blaring outside, a wonderful sage green with a hint of blue. Inside, music blares at the top of its lungs, although subdued by the joyous chatter inside. Edna sees people of all kinds, some she recognises as supers before she even has the chance to identify their logos, and they smile at her as she walks past. Voyd is there, her blue hair isolating her in the crowd without much effort, and it is welcoming to her.

She reassures her chauffeur he can wait a block down, handing him money for some snacks he’ll appreciate later, and makes her way into the depths of the restaurant, seating herself at a booth. She figures Cam may not have arrived yet, has a feeling she would know her even if she’d not yet seen her. Edna is short— four foot three, to be exact— and all of her intimidating facade comes from her brand, from her willingness to be unkind and ambitious when she wanted to accomplish something worthwhile, that she _knew_ in the depths of her soul would prosper and bear fruit, but now, she has never felt less intimidating. People here know her, and love her, part-fear and part-admiration, which has always been enough. If only Cam still knew that side of her, it might make the night a lot easier.

She sits, orders a drink for herself to help ease the nerves— which, for the record, don’t make much sense— and, after about ten minutes of her punctuality, the door opens and a bustling mess of people come in, laughing as a few of them pass to find the reserved tables.

The waiters take care of each pair or group, and before Edna has a chance to look up, a more organised mess files in, but this time in the form of one individual; her. She knows it, how couldn’t she, of _course_ it’s her. This is the Cam she knew years ago, the Cam whose accent has changed, whose eyes remain the same, still that student she taught with passion in every inch of her, but, somehow, there is more to her than Edna previously thought. Like looking back on an old photo album.

She scans the room gently, as if trying to pretend to the fellow customers she’s only observing instead of struggling to find anyone in particular. For starters, she thinks, raising her hand to alert the woman, she is younger than she first thought, or at least she looks that way; maybe about fifty, she couldn’t tell since she’d last seen her nearly twenty-five years ago. Asian, Korean, which one couldn’t tell by the accent alone, definitely Municiberg’s doing. She wears glasses now, thin and light-rimmed glasses that glint in the light, has black hair that isn’t darkened by dye, instead threaded with greys. Her outfit is… practical, for lack of a better word, some slacks and a turtleneck.

Edna immediately realises that she is summarising, a trait she adopted since she first started working in the industry, trying to identify important features, notable characteristics. All too familiarly, Cam frowns and sits down with a tiny smile. “Edna.”

“Cam,” she replies. “Had a decent drive? There was huge traffic on the—”

“— Yeah, I caught some of it. You?”

“Little passages. Made it easy to get around, so not much, thankfully.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I suppose, yes.” She watches Cam order a drink, some smoothie (non-alcoholic, which surprises her), ignoring the waiter’s frown cast in her direction in favour of observing the other woman before she can notice she’s doing so. “Heard you’re a designer,” she says, as nonchalant as possible. “Or had I assumed wrong by the PhD?”

Cam laughs through her nose, a small scoff, really. “Oh, you flatter me. You might be right with the PhD, but I’m not a… designer anymore. I don’t do those like I used to, I’m a professor. I teach the new generation, or,” she says, raising a hand flippantly, “whatever.”

“You don’t get bored?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” She shrugs, folding her arms in as her eyes roam the menu. “Still, I get by. And I suppose you do, too.”

“Get bored or get by?”

“Both.”

“I see.” Edna takes a moment to look through her own menu, glancing through each item. She can feel Cam glancing at her every now and then, hesitant to say anything in the silence. After a while, they order food. Exchange pleasantries about work, the world, the Screenslaver.

The food arrives, and they go silent as they eat, toeing the line between acquaintances and friends. Eventually, wearing a conflicted expression, Cam asks, “Why _did_ you call? If it wasn’t a wrong number, which I highly suspect, why would you go out of your way to… find me?”

Edna pauses, placing her cutlery onto the plate with a dull _ting_. “You will know I’m lying, won’t you?” Hesitantly, the other woman nods. “Then I might as well tell you.”

Cam puts her cutlery down too, leaning a little forward to listen. 

“I am not a kind woman- and before you tell me you think I am, let me finish. I am not a kind woman, I never come across that way, everyone knows me as the ambitious designer living behind closed doors, darling, because it is _true_ . I am very private, people talk too much for my liking so I know very few people. I am not friends with all of them, and no one thinks like me, no one has the mind I have, no one _can_.” She gives an arrogant smile, thoroughly considering her next words. “But you remind me of someone who did. Someone I used to teach, she was… passionate, brilliant, and I thought she’d left.” She looks Cam dead in the eye. “And I was wrong.”

Cam stammers for a few moments, then asks, “Who?”

“I am inclined to think your memory was wiped.”

“No, I mean— I did _leave_. I went far away, I wasn’t in Municiberg for years, how did you..?” Stupefied, she pauses. “I didn’t even recognise you.”

Edna chuckles. “People change. God knows I did.”

“It’s been years.”

“It has, no?” She looks at her nails, raising her eyebrows. “And you don’t use your talent.”

“Hey, that’s not true, I- I do other things. I’m passing it on, as you did.”

“And yet you have not made a single piece since, what, 1940? The war?”

Cam turns away; she’s hit a sore spot, she can see that, and quickly changes the subject. “What do you teach?”

“... Apparel design. I co-teach a class on Business and Management in the industry as well, though.”

“That sounds interesting,” Edna says, no other reply coming to mind. She struggles to see the Cam she once knew in the Cam in front of her, an occurrence she expected. Moments pass and she is unaware of the scrutinizing she is doing, staring at the woman in front of her as if to sift through her memories, to find out what she remembers, what she does not. Cam cocks her head at her upon realising, returning some light-heartedness to the situation. 

“You think I’ve changed too much, don’t you?”

The older woman nods. “There was a time when we worked together, and you seem to have forgotten all about it. You don’t remember a voice, you don’t remember a face, it is all…” She gestures vaguely, frowning. “Up in the air.” Cam finishes her food, setting aside their plates and ignoring the _what happened to you_ that lingers in the air after her statement. It is clear that neither of them know if arguing is easier than explaining, so Edna resorts to the latter.

The rest of the evening is spent in silence, the bill arriving and patrons departing as it grows darker. 

“I changed,” Cam states when they exit the restaurant, one of the last few pairs to do so. “I went into hiding, I—” She clutches her jacket. “I left home, I came back, I stopped doing what I used to. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough for you.”

“Cam, you _know_ it is not about _me_ .” Edna shakes her head. “You were good. Brilliant. After the war, I thought you had died, you were so distant.” The other woman laughs. “What _happened_?”

“I lost someone,” she says without missing a beat. “And I came here to get away when it happened. That’s what happened.”

Edna nods, several times, slowly. She had been worried about losing the Parr family; she thinks, no, knows, how much harder actually losing someone might be. “I see.”

There is a long pause of silence, Cam staring at the ground, looking exhausted. She taps her foot against the pavement, eventually sighing. “Is this it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” She shrugs. “What was your intention, here? Find me and scold me for taking the path I have?” 

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I do not know!” Edna yells, truthfully. “The world has changed, too, and by some strange coincidence, you seem to share a number with one of my closest friends, and now, after nearly twenty years, you’re here? And you are not who you used to be, and _nothing_ is like it used to be, not even Rocher, for God’s sake. I wanted to know you, wanted to see if you’d work again, and you did not even recognise me.” Cam has been staring, looking on the verge of tears for the past few moments. “And the war changed everyone, so I am not… blaming you. I just want to know the new Cam, then, if that is even a possibility. I do not know _why_ I want to, so do not ask.”

“You missed me, then?” Cam says, playfully, but her eyes glisten. They don’t know each other, not really, but some part of their relationship (dangling by a thread) reminds Edna that Cam is still herself, still passionate, even if it’s dimmed inside of her, and so, she does a stupid thing, she says, “I did.”

Too tired to look stunned, the younger woman laughs. “Goodnight, E.” When she realises she’s used the nickname, she smiles a little wider. “I’ll be around.”

“Goodnight,” Edna replies. “So will I.” 

Wordlessly, she watches Cam go and wonders what the _hell_ the last twenty-five years have done to the world.

**—**

The second time she returns home from a show in Milan, Edna is exhausted. It takes her the entire morning to unpack her belongings, mostly due to the extensive amount of gifts she received (and she cannot truly blame anyone for wanting to give them to her, but the truth is, she will donate them. She’s been the girl in the charity shop before, aching for the fancy dresses) and the sheer exhaustion that comes with having to reorganise her life at home. She finishes at around one o’clock and has a simple lunch. 

The phone rings at half-past one as if to mock her, so she waits for a few moments before eventually picking it up. “Mode.”

“ _E, hi_ .” Cam’s voice jitters through the line. “ _Weren’t you in a show, recently_?”

“Oh, darling, I just got back,” she says, sighing. “You caught me at home, lucky. All okay?”

“ _Uh, yes. Yeah._ ”

“... You are sure, yes?”

“ _I’m just exhausted,_ ” Cam mumbles. Edna can picture her closing her eyes. “ _I wanted to wish you luck, is all. Even if I’m not using my talent, it’s good to see_ —” 

“I am sorry, that I said that. It was not my intention.”

“ _You had an intention, then_ ?” Edna hears the sound of children in the background, then Cam’s whispers, “ _Mom’ll be there soon, okay? Tell me all about it in five minutes_.” 

“You have…” she asks, heart dropping to her stomach, “kids?”

“ _You sound like it’s a slight against you_ .” Cam laughs. “ _I have two, yeah_.” 

“Oh, what are their names?”

There is a pause of genuine surprise, Edna can hear it in the breath the other woman takes, and for a moment she wishes she could stop analysing her, but then Cam replies, “ _Cassidy. She’s, uhm, she’s five, going on six soon. And Nick. He’s eight_.”

“They sound wonderful.”

“ _They are_.”

Edna holds the phone close to her ear, fiddling with her jumpsuit of the day. “Would you like to come by?”

“ _No, I’d intrude, E, it’s okay. I have the kids and work, and_ …” She seems to run out of excuses. “ _Yeah. I would_.”

About ten minutes later, there is the rumble of a car let in by Rolf due to her notification, and Edna opens the door to find two small children, hesitantly exiting the vehicle as they gaze around at the exterior of the mansion. Typical children, she thinks, smiling as the driver climbs out. 

“It is prettier on the inside,” She tells them, gesturing inside with a hand. “Come.”

Once they enter the living room, even Cam cannot suppress her awe— every individual that has ever entered the mansion reacts the same way, turning around to observe every detail, committing it to memory, but for some reason, seeing Cam do it is all the more satisfying. “How on Earth d’you stumble across a place like this?” 

“Oh, you don’t. You have it renovated.” Edna grins cockily seeing her expression. “You’re welcome to sit down, I will make us tea.”

“Cassidy, tea?” Cam asks, turning towards her daughter, cowering behind her. “She’s a little shy.”

“I can see.” She gives Cassidy a wink, then bustles about the kitchen as Cam’s son sits down on a chair, grinning at his surroundings. “Sugar?”

“A teaspoon for me. Cass too, thank you.”

“So…” Edna finishes making the tea, carrying it to the table as they both sit down, Cassidy on her mother’s lap. “You are not working today?”

“Holiday at the moment. Also, gradings, they take time, so we’re given a bit of leniency.” Her hand fumbles to hold her mug and her daughter simultaneously. “What about you?” She asks, as if it’s required of her.

“Oh, darling, not much. You don’t look very alive.”

“All in a hard day’s work.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sorry to drop by so—”

“ _Pish-posh_ , darling. Do not start, I was not busy.” Edna points towards Cassidy, who looks sleepy, and Nick, who is curled up in a chair with one of her design magazines. “Do you think they would like a movie?”

Cam visibly relaxes, turning to her children. “I think they’d like that a lot.”

After Edna sets them up by the guest room TV, a couple of snacks and an animated movie on the screen, she and Cam meet back at the living room seating. More mugs of tea are made, the younger woman with her legs draped over the arm of the chair, back against the other. She looks comfortable, a thought that makes Edna smile. They are knee-deep in a conversation about work, which is all they seem to talk about, before Edna missteps and asks, “Husband work somewhere else?”

Cam stops dead in her tracks, expression one of surprise (or sadness, she can’t quite tell) as she mulls the sentence over, looking down. “No. I’m, uh, I’m separated. Have been,” she laughs, “for a while.” When she looks back up, Edna can see she’s hit a soft spot. 

“I apologise.”

“No, E, don’t.” 

“I didn’t know.”

“Exactly, you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault she—” Her eyes widen. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Words fail her, dying on her lips with a horrified sigh. 

Edna smiles. “It’s alright, darling. I am far too distant to say a word.”

“... Th-Thank you.” 

“May I ask how long you were married?”

“Oh, wow, forever.” Cam seems to grasp the tiniest bit of joy at the memory, tilting her head back. “I spent fourteen years with her, eight as her wife.” She cringes slightly, glancing up as if to check she hasn’t made a fatal error in telling her this. “You don’t think less of me?”

“God, no. Why would you think that?”

“It’s not… E, it’s not normal, is it? You know what they do to women like me, out there,” she says, gesturing with one hand to the abyss. “If it were illegal, they’d kill me. I’m lucky enough to have been put in therapy once, and never the kind they wish they could.” Cam sighs, looking down; she’s said too much. 

“Darling,” she murmurs, “there is a lot about me that I hide.”

The younger woman’s eyebrows raise, not catching onto a word despite hanging on them. “What?”

Edna leans back in her chair with a smile. She hears the movie ending, realising an hour has already passed, and Cam’s children rush back into the living room with grins on their faces. “Mom! She has a cool door! It’s got loads of buttons on it!”

“You didn’t press any, please tell me you didn’t,” Cam says, burying her face in her hands. 

Edna chuckles. “I would know if they did, darling.”

“Oh, thank you.” She doesn’t meet her eyes, instead looking at her ever-energetic children with pure adoration and exhaustion. “Shall we leave you to it, then?”

“If you need to go,” Edna says, reluctantly. 

“I don’t want to impose.”

“Umma,” Nick murmurs, motioning for her to lean down so he can whisper in her ear. Edna watches as Cam nods in amused understanding, dramatic as always in the company of her children, then turns towards her. 

“Nick wants to propose you come visit us, sometime, and also, he would like to compliment your guest bedroom.” 

“That sounds like a _lie_ ,” Edna states, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve been whispering for about three minutes.”

Cam shrugs. “Children babble, E—” Beside her, Nick bursts out laughing. “Nicholas, do share with the class what’s funny?”

“I want to see what you and Umma worked on,” he says, revealing his mother’s secrets enthusiastically. “When you were a team.” Even Cassidy, hiding behind the chair with one small hand on her mother’s arm, seems to perk up at the thought. 

“E, you don’t have to, I mean… You probably don’t even have any of the pieces—” Edna shakes her head, smiling. “What?”

“You talk too much, Cam, you heard what he said. Come, Nick, I show you. Your mother was a very good apprentice.”

It only takes a few security measures to enter the lab, all of which Edna is visibly proud of, and suddenly every single memory Cam has ever had in this home returns. She has only really ever seen the lab, taken the only entrance that led here, and Edna realises this as she gapes at the new technology. Her eyebrows raise at the younger woman as if to ask _like it_? She doesn’t get an answer in the form of words, only in the glimmer in her eyes. Her children walk to the nearest counter, attempting to look serious but failing as they take in every detail, every shade of purple known to mankind in the room, the red accents and black lining that even Cam seems to recognise— a fact that makes Edna smile despite her best attempts to stop it, which she hides in the cupboard she rummages in. 

“You’ve still got them?” Cam asks. Edna turns back with several pieces draped over her arms, giving a small shrug. Her children quickly rush in and crowd Edna before she has a chance to place them all down in their eagerness, but they quickly move aside to let her after she frowns at them. 

Before Edna has time to do so herself, Cam shuffles through the pieces with the eyes of a kid in a toy store, searching for the ones she knows. Nick stands beside her, peering over curiously. It takes about two minutes total with all the brilliant pieces Edna has made over the years, some of which have only had Cam’s input. It seems that her intention is to find a particular piece, one she holds up now, eyes sparkling. 

“You remember it, darling?” Edna steps forward, arms crossed as they gaze at the piece together. A pantsuit, simple, a small part of an unofficial, unnamed collection, the air force blue that Cam had loved at the time. “Spring of—”

“— ‘35, yeah. E, you still have all of it?”

“Some pieces, here and there. What I thought was worthwhile.”

“And this piece of junk was in there?” She turns back to the cupboard with an amused smile, the purple light casting a glare on her face. “I thought I knew you.”

“This is not _garbage_ , Cam, this is- this is art!” Edna gestures forcefully at the items, bringing out one bit by bit. “You inspired these things, you _made_ them, you have it in…” She pauses, sighing. “Your children did not come here to hear me scold you, now. We show them the good ones.”

Nick and Cassidy are shown only a handful of pieces, each a unique design from some collection or unreleased concept that they had worked on at the time, and by the time they are done, Cassidy has yawned at least thrice and the sun is beginning to set ever so slightly. 

Edna watches as Cam hands her children the keys to the car, telling them she’ll be there in a moment before watching them go and turning to face her. 

“Look, E, I…” She sighs, closing her eyes briefly. “Things change, peo- people, people change, and I don’t know if I’m cut out for this anymore, not like I was back _then_. I can’t dramatically alter the course of my life for work anymore—”

“I never said that, Cam.”

“Then what _did_ you say?” comes the impatient question, a huff through her nose. Edna, in truth, has many intentions: one, she knows that the moment she invited Cam to her home she was intending to lure her back to this part of the designing world. Two, she wants to work with her, find the dormant fire in her to turn into an eruption, and three, most of all, she wants to remind her of who she is. If anything, the third intention is the most important. 

Cam scrutinizes her amidst all of her thinking, a normal occurrence, but does not for a moment falter when Edna finally answers: “I said that you have it in you. Whatever it is you think is gone, is, I don’t know, dear, _lost_ , it is still there.” There is a beat of silence. “And it did not go away because of laws. Not because of the war. It went away because _you_ …” She tilts her head, leaning forward to recenter Cam’s downward gaze. “You were afraid.”

“... You think?” Cam nearly laughs. “Everything is different, E. It’s not going back to the way it was, at least, not when I have a family, other _people_ to take—”

“It doesn’t have to! God, your core beliefs are still intact! You wanted to make the world a better place, didn’t you!”

“Not through my _powers_ !” She visibly retracts, gasping slightly after the statement. “I wasn’t cut out to be a Super, the relocation program’s all I got. It’s what got me by, and design was the only way to do things to change _something_. Anything. So if you’re trying to hint at me becoming this messiah, it’s not in me. It never was.”

“I want to work with you, Cam. I don’t want you to play the messiah.”

Now, with the exhaustion half-worn off and the fight still calming in her, shock is visible in Cam’s expression. “You’re not talking about Supers.”

“No, darling, no, you were never meant for it. Precognition, brilliant, really, but your design skills likely exceed all that saviour…” Edna gestures vaguely. “Business.”

“Oh, damnit, E, I’m sorry. I read it all wrong.”

“Do not worry, darling. So. What do you say?”

Cam manages a laugh. “You want to drag me into the fashion world solely so you can have the right to scold me? I don’t think so.”

“No, no,” Edna says, smiling softly, “That’s only a perk of the job, no. I want _you_. Your mind. Your skill.”

Cam turns back to her children, laughing and arguing in her beat-up little yellow car, the family she’s had for years now, and she sighs. “... Look, I’d need to find out what the university says,” she says, clasping her hands together. Edna starts a word but doesn’t finish as she continues, “And this doesn’t mean it’ll work. Necessarily. But it also doesn’t mean I’m saying no.”

“Well, of course, darling, whatever suits you best.”

Cam snorts. “You mean whatever strings you’ll pull to get it.”

“I will not!” After she is given a frown, she relents. “Fine, I promise I will not. I trust your judgement is not impaired to refuse, anyway.”

A few moments of silence and some unspoken understanding, Cam bows her head. “I should take the kids home. Got a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Edna says. “You take care now.”

“I will.”

Most of the experiences in her entire life have not made her feel as hopeful as she does now, watching the yellow car go with a newfound seed of inspiration planted in her mind.

All it had to do now was grow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today on i adore edna mode: this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very strange work to be my first :) but I hope you enjoyed it! I'm on tumblr @lefttigerobservation if you ever want to chat about anything


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